


Two Weeks In Brooklyn

by Mandergee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Coulson's Cakewalk Entry, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandergee/pseuds/Mandergee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil Coulson is forced to go on a two weeks vacation he finds the opportunity to make a new friend- and recover a lost treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Weeks In Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry in the very first "Coulson's Cakewalk" on Tumblr! I actually really enjoyed writing a Coulson-Centric fic!

“ _We're sending you to astronaut camp.” He could remember staring, jaw dropping only slightly at the surprise of it as Skye stepped back and took her place beside May. May, who had accompanied her into the office without a sound, waiting patiently as Skye had declared her thoughts on his mental state and why he needed to take a break. “So have fun, and don't forget to write.”_

_"You did wh-”_

_“I'm_ _ kidding _ . _ We didn't have the money for that, and besides- Fitz would kill me if anyone else went before he did.” At the mention of Fitz he frowned, and Skye glanced over at May, giving her a barely perceptible shrug. _

_“Phil.” That time, May did speak, and he caught the patient roll of her eyes as she tilted her head in Skye's direction. “You're overdoing it. You need to take the time for yourself- get your bearings.”_

_“May has this administrative thing down, AC, so we can get along fine without you.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“What we're saying is that you need rest. You need_ time _, and you're not getting any of that when you're sitting here grinding your teeth over things that can't be helped.” May reached out and placed a folder on his desk, flipping it open to reveal a first class plane ticket and a thick bundle of crisp bills. “We got you a ticket to New York. We've spoken with Captain Rogers and he'll be handling things from there. It's a round trip ticket, so I don't want to see you back here until then.”_

_“And this is my allowance?”_

_“It's everything we had to spare, and-” Skye held up her hand before he could finish, a grin creeping over her face as his mouth began to slowly close. “Don't worry. May's got some contacts- it's the beer and pretzel money. We're not taking funds away from scientific research or anything important.”_

_“I can't-”_

_“You_ _ can _ _, and you will.” May was firm, and he shook his head even as she waved her hand at the room around them, scattered files and half-opened boxes covering each available surface. “We're all capable of keeping things together until you get back. You're taking a break, and this is all going to be here when you get back.”_

 __

He hadn't let it go that easily, he reflected, staring into the glass of amber beer as the scent of hops floated up into the air. They'd pushed and he'd pushed, finally relenting only after Simmons had burst in letting them know that Fitz was awake, that he would be okay...and  _then_ he could go. Fitz was going to be fine, and the last unanswered question had finally been answered. Fitz would live, and the world could go on.  


“You okay there? That beer isn't going to drink itself.” Coulson looked up at the man who slid onto the stool beside him, the dim sports bar empty at that time of day. He'd been alone for longer than he'd realized, and as Steve Rogers waved the bartender down and ordered himself a draft, he lifted his own and took a long, steady drink. “There you go.”

“I lost track of time.”

“Thinking about your team.” A statement, not a question, and he'd come to expect those sort of observations from Rogers in the amount of time they'd spent together. A short two weeks in the summer of New York City with the heat radiating from the asphalt in waves, with most of their time in shady bars or in the stands of a ballpark enjoying foamy beer and lukewarm hotdogs. He hadn't known he'd needed it, the break from the suits and ties and espionage- but May and Skye had known. They always did. “You'll do that, being a leader- always putting them first, even when they're not around. Thinking about what you can do to make their lives easier, to make the enemy come at you instead of them. You'll never be alone, not when you have a team.”

“I never am.” He sipped again, felt the warm liquid hit his empty stomach, heard it growl. A bowl of peanuts was slid in his direction and he dug fingers into it, pulling out a cluster of shelled nuts. “They're good people, my team.”

“I'd like to meet them.” He wondered how much Rogers remembered about  _his/_ family, about the people he'd come to count on for support when the shells fell from the sky and the fires raged around him. “Anyone who sends you to me for a vacation knows you pretty well, I'd say.”

“They do.” Peanut shells crumbled onto the sticky surface of the bar, and Coulson pushed the salty pieces past his lips, one by one. His diet for the past two weeks had consisted of salt, fat, and any manner of sidewalk vendor fare that Captain Rogers had encouraged him to try even as he had himself.  _You haven't lived in New York until you've eaten from a food truck_ ./His favorite had been the pizza, a hole-in-the-wall in Brooklyn that Rogers had sworn existed when he was child- a declaration that, for him, wasn't terribly far fetched. The neighborhood recognized Captain America- they always did- but this one had been different, and he'd enjoyed the chance to see the side of his childhood hero few did. The man behind the legend. 

“Speaking of knowing you well-” Rogers reached for the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out a stack of playing cards and set them on a clean napkin, nudging them in his direction. “Before you head back tomorrow, I got you something.”

“You've given me enough this week, Cap. I don't-” They weren't playing cards, he realized, catching the edge of the napkin with his fingers and pulling it close. They were Captain America trading cards, the edges perfectly cut and unscathed by time, pictures bright and new. 

“Fury used yours to...encourage us. I was pretty angry at him for that, but when Agent May contacted me, explained you were alive and that you needed some time away from it all...I was happy to help. I reached out to a few friends of mine, got you these.”

“You signed them.”

“You never got around to asking me to sign yours- so I'm doing you that favor now. It's the least I can do for someone who was willing to put his life on the line for me.” He looked up into the eyes he'd seen on countless posters, eyes that were a brilliant blue the toy companies could never quite manage to duplicate on their action figures. Hours of play had convinced him he could  _be_ Captain America someday, and even as he'd slid down the wall of the helicarrier with the blood seeping through his shirt...in the back of his mind that belief had still lingered, a flicker of light in the darkness. “It's been fun, Coulson. Any time you're back in Brooklyn, you find me.”

“Will do, Cap.”

“I told you to call me Steve.” Steve raised his glass and Coulson raised his own, the edges clinking gently before they drained the contents, rising up from wobbling stools to exit into the summer evening.

“Then call me Phil.” Two weeks, he thought, and they'd stood on formalities that were comfortable to him, though he suspected that Steve had done so exactly for that reason. Last names were formal and first names...were friendly. He'd found another friend in someone he'd always imagined he might, given the chance to know him better.

“Well, one of these days I might need a vacation myself. You'll have to show me around that old base of yours.”

“I suspect you might be more familiar with it than we are. It was built in the war- maybe you can teach us a thing or two.” He pushed the door open and the light of the setting sun burst through, sending dust dancing in its wake. “You let us know- we'll make it happen.”

__

As the plane lifted off the next morning he pulled the cards out of his pocket, let his fingers trace over the scrawl of Steve Rogers' signature against the brilliant colors, and made a mental note to thank the team for their efforts in making him realize how much he had really needed a break.

And how much he'd missed his family.


End file.
